Remember
by Ashtree1165
Summary: It's okay to move on. In fact, you have to if you ever want to go anywhere. As long as you don't forget. As long as you remember. Takes place between season's 1&2. Mentions of Jason's death. Lots of Nightwing!Dick whump and torture. Daddy!Bats


The last thing Dick could remember was running. Running and the feeling of the breeze of cool night air hitting his face as he leapt from roof top to roof top at his top speed. But what had he been running from? It could've been a number of things, a villain? Himself?

He didn't know why he even bothered. Running from himself that is. It had never proven successful as of yet, so why did he bother with trying? He guessed Bruce may have drilled the whole 'never give up' lesson into his head a little too well.

The only thing Dick knew for sure was that he couldn't move his arms or legs due, and he had a faint memory of being taken by surprise and attacked from behind, ending in being subdued after a short lived scuffle. That, and that his head was absolutely killing him. A harsh pounding against the inside of his skull, ricocheting threw his head and causing it to ache furiously. He deduced he'd been knocked out, a swift blow to the head being the cause of the relentless headache as well as the reason why blood was currently dripping in his eye, obscuring his vision and matting his hair against his forehead.

He just wished he could remember how it was he'd ended up here. How could he possibly let someone get the upper hand on him? He was Nightwing, Batman's protégé. He'd spent nearly his whole life training for these situations.

Attempting to clear his clouded mind, Dick looked around himself, taking in the whole of the room for the first time. It was just a shed, a shack. Just a rundown little dump, and judging by the just visible scenery out the single window, it was in the middle of absolute nowhere. He was in the middle of nowhere. Nightwing's absence from Bludhaven wouldn't raise any suspicion until a minimum of at least a month. The press would assume he was in Gotham or one of the other numerous cities he occasionally patrolled. And by then it would be far too late. He'd die all alone out here.

Just like-

No! He refused to allow his mind to wander in that direction. He refused to think of... him. That was the last thing he needed to do, there was no way dwelling on that night would aid in his escape.

Escape. That's what he should be thinking about. Damn it Grayson! Get your act together.

He carefully inspected the rope binding his wrists and ankles to the chair. It was thick, quality grade and tied with expert nots. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. As he began to ponder who could of managed to catch him intirelly off guard, knock him out, drag him out into the middle of nowhere, and tie him to a chair, the copper doorknob began to turn.

The old wood creaking ominously on rusty hinges as it slowly swung open. Clacking against the wall behind it and bouncing back just slightly. A tall, wiry shadowed figure stepped forward, shutting the door behind him. Locking it. Anyone else -anyone normal- would be quivering in their boots, and Dick was sure he would be too if he hadn't grown up and spent most of his life in the shadows of Gotham. As the shadowy figure stepped into the light, one shiny, polished, dress shoe at a time, Richard found himself sinking back in his chair, as though he could disappear. Wishing he was anywhere but here. The Clown Price of Crime stood before him, his usual smile stretched impossibly wide, red tinged eyes bright, his greasy strands of hair swinging about, while he clutched his stomach and laughed. The sound ringing out for a few more moments, before going deathly silent in an instant.

"So glad my favourite little birdie could come out and play," the Joker's unmistakable voice broke through Dick's racing thoughts. A manic grin spreading across the man's face.

"What do you want, Joker?" Dick asked -no, demanded- his voice sharp and biting. It would do him no good to let his emotions run ramped. He needed to keep himself in check, no matter how badly he wanted to take hold of this man before him and beat him senseless. To throttle him. To make him pay for the things he'd done. Make him atone for all his crimes, morn for the entire graveyards he'd filled.

The mad man threw his head back and laughed. "What do I want? Oh I just want to play a bit, teach old Bats to keep a better hold of his little birdies. Otherwise someone else, like me perhaps, will have to put them in their cage. Where they belong."

Dick swallowed nervously.

"Oh but that's right, you're not a little birdie anymore, are you? This young chickadee flew the coop," he mocked, circling Dick slowly as he sat strapped in the chair. Like a shark circling its pray, taunting it before it inevitably attacked. "You're no longer Robin, no longer the Bats little sidekick."

"We are never his sidekicks," Dick ground out through tightly clenched teeth. When would the villains of Gotham learn, they were his partners not the Bat's sidekicks.

"Oh? Well that's not how I see it. You Robin's follow that man around like he's God himself. All dark and broody, but still God. You run head first into danger for that man, you risk everything. Just ask the last little birdie I had locked up in my cage."

"Don't you speak of him. You have no right to speak of him!"

"Ooh, did I upset the sensitive little birdie? Stuck a nerve perhaps?" The Joker teased, his voice mocking and manic as he wiped out his switch blade knife. The blade shimmering and reflecting the small amount of light provided by the single bulb that hung overhead, illuminating the cabin in its melloncholy glow. He dragged the razor sharp blade along Dick's chest, slowly, tauntingly, he spoke once more. His voice dropping to a dangerous level. "Do you miss him? Do you wish you could have saved him? Taken his place even?" He continued to slowly circle his chair. All the wile keeping his blade trained on Dick's neck. "And maybe you can. Not take his place of course, it's far too late for that, he's never coming back. But maybe, just maybe, you could join him. If I'm feeling generous that is."

"If you don't want to kill me, then what do you want?"

"Oh have I not explained it clear enough for the poor birdbrain of yours yet? Or are you just stupider than last we met?" The Joker barked with an exaggerated eye roll. Always the drama queen. Richard felt he'd never understand this maniac no matter how many years he lived. "I must say, I did like the other you better. The younger one, the second Robin. Much more feisty. He had quite the mouth on him, really no manners at all. Now as much as I appreciate your etiquette and professionalism, he was much more fun to toy with. Much more vocal."

Dick grit his teeth, a snarl morphing his face as he ducked his head, keeping his gaze on his feet. He had to refrain from saying something he knew he'd regret. But the Joker was truly making it difficult. Taking about... him.

"Now, time to get down to business." With that the Joker straightened himself, smoothing out his immaculate suit, straightening his tie. Dick constantly wondered who this man could have been. Who he really was. What he was before. If there even was a before.

He watched as he quite literally pranced across the small, confined cabin, directing Dick's attention to the small camera in the far corner of the room. Dick scolded himself for not noticing it earlier. It wasn't hidden, in fact it was sitting in plain sight and was by no means a small piece of technology. Though in his defence he was a little preoccupied.

He knew he'd regret asking, but he couldn't help himself, "what's that for?"

The Joker grinned, "say hello, smile for the camera, all that jazz. I imagine by now you've got your whole little team watching on the other end."

And curiosity slaughtered that feline.

Dick's eyes widened almost comically before pulling himself together. "I don't have a team anymore. Incase you haven't noticed, which if you were anyone else I'd say I was certain you have, I'm not Robin anymore. I'm not part of any team."

"Oh you aren't, but you are," the Joker said in his sing song voice.

Dick blinked, muttering under his breath, "that makes no sence."

"Does it really need to little bird?"

Dick opened his mouth but found he had nothing to say. This man was clinically insane, was he honestly surprised he'd said something that in and of itself was, too, insane?

"Now," the Joker started, recapturing Dick's full attention. "I'm going to teach old Bats a lesson, through you! Fun right?"

This man really needed to look up the definition of the word, fun.

Dick watched closely as the Joker pulled a crowbar from seemingly nowhere. The dark metal shimmering in the dull lighting.

The Joker spun on his heel, holding the crowbar menacingly in his calloused hands. "Now who wants to play a game?"

* * *

Bruce Wayne had been having a rather eventful day. Eight a.m. board meeting, eleven a.m. conference, finally getting a lunch break somewhere between two and three. This was his company, you'd imagine he'd be able to boycott a few meetings. Apparently not.

It was nearly four before he finally got a chance to check in with the league.

He was finally headed home after the impossibly exhausting day, it was worse than spending a full weekend as the Batman. At least then he actually had space to think straight. He was riding in the back of his car, slouching really, after calling for Alfred to pick him up at the office when he felt his cell vibrate in his pocket. He heaved a sigh, fearing it was another board member claiming to required his presence or signature for another pointless document. Either that it the League, which would quite possibly be worse.

"Bruce?"

It was Superman, well, Clark Kent really since he was phoning Bruce on his personal cell, and actually calling him by his first name. All though he didn't have much of a choice seeing as how Bruce had forgotten his comm. at home after changing suits last minute. He had Tim to blame for that.

"Clark? You never just call, so what is it Boy Scout?" Bruce asked, well aware of the confusion and curiosity lacing his voice.

Clark seemed to hesitate before finally speaking. It was pointless to waste precious time with a matter as delicate as the situation at present and he knew how Bruce hated it as well. "I think you need to get to Mount Justice immediately."

Bruce's brows knit in confusion. "You think?"

"The Joker initiated contact with the League," Clark continued. "He has a hostage... It's- it's Dick."

That was all Bruce needed to hear. "Alfred, drive faster."

Bruce had never moved so fast in all his life. He was in and out of the Batcave in under a minute, fully suited up and on his way to Happy Harbour. The jet -with the Batmobile in the cargo hold- soared at top speeds, he was pretty sure that if one could place speed limits in the sky, he'd be breaking them. Not that he ever followed speed limits necessarily, not as Batman at least, whereas Bruce Wayne had a reputation to uphold.

Once he'd arrived at Mount Justice, he was a force to be reckoned with. The scattered members of the team that lingered about the base were quick to clear a path to the main conference room. Not wanting to be in the way of whatever mission the Bat had his sights set on.

His face was set in a stern scowl as he burst through the door, entering one of many conference rooms, nothing unusual. But Superman could see something all new shimmering in his hardened eyes from his place across the room at the chair at the head of the table. This wasn't the Batman he was faced with this evening. This was Bruce Wayne; billionaire, philanthropist, and deeply concerned father.

"What do you mean Joker has Richard as hostage?!" He all but growled, slamming his hands, palms down, onto the tabletop, hard. Superman himself had to refrain from flinching. He was nearly twice Bruce's size, but he had nothing on Bruce's scare factor. The man was raised in Gotham for Christ's sake! Scary was his job.

"Just under an hour ago the Joker initiated contact through a live video feed. He-"

"What does he want!? Money? Ammunition? Legal freedom from Arkham? Me!?"

Clark tried not to look annoyed by the older man's interruption, or disturbed by the high chance that the latter was more than likely correct, but he was certain it showed. But he simply cleared his throat he continued, his voice calm and as smooth as ice. He knew how delicate the situation was, he needed to tread carefully otherwise the ice would simply crack. Dragging Bruce down with it. "He hasn't clarified, but I believe he simply wishes for us to watch. He claimed he was teaching Batman a lesson."

Bruce ground his teeth to an almost painful point, but he had hardly noticed. "What lesson could I possibly get from him holding Richard as hostage?!" He couldn't do this. This was his fault. Everyone he loved was put into danger time and time again and it was because of him.

Clark sighed, dragging a hand across his tired face before giving his reluctant answer. "To keep a better leash on your birds."

Bruce's face paled considerably. "That's what he said?"

Clark nodded, worry for his friend etched across his face. If this was how Bruce reacted to a kidnapping, he feared how he may respond to actually seeing his child in harm's way. "What are you going to do?"

"What can I do? What can any of us do?! We wait, we do what he wants for now."

The look aimed his way didn't get passed Bruce, "I've dealt with the Joker before, many times. And so has Dick, I can handle this. We'll play along for now, go with what he wants until we can locatemy son."

Clark nodded.

Bruce regularized himself as best he could, looking Superman dead in the eyes. "Where's the footage? You said there was a live feed?"

Clark nodded and ambled out of the room, Bruce silently trailed behind him like a shadow. The questioning worried looks from their teammates irked Bruce to no end. They must have caught on from what they heard of Bruce's shouting. He despised being coddled and he couldn't bare sympathy, especially from his team. The founding five all knew him personally, as Bruce Wayne, and just a simple sympathetic look from one of them, especially Diana or Barry, drove him crazy.

He caught Shayera's gaze, as she stood close to Katar and Barry. She was never much for children, or people, choosing to be an observer rather than a participant. But she'd cared for Dick like a nephew like the lot of them since the day he stepped foot onto the Watchtower. Sharing stories with the young boy about Thanagar to get him to sleep on restless nights when the Batman was needed.

Her bird like vision and hearing had picked up every detail of their discussion. And she couldn't help but worry. But she simply nodded in Bruce's direction, Bruce returning the small yet meaningful gesture before marching on.

The two entered the room at the end of the hall, a spacious room with a large table and several flat screen computers. It was of close resemblance to that of the Monitor Womb abourd the Watchtower, though it was rarely used by anyone save Batman. He'd lock himself in for hours, working on a case of sorts. Tracking down the Joker or Two Face or Penguin or any of the other numerous villains that roamed Gotham. Dick would make jokes about how he was probably just going through his Catwoman files.

As the door closed behind them Bruce was glad. As long as he couldn't see the team's sympathy, it wasn't a problem.

Clark quickly made his way to the large screen that hung in the center of the back wall. He pushed a few keys, resulting in the live feed being brought up for the occupants of the room to view.

Bruce scowled at the screen, his mouth set in a hard, fine line.

In the middle of a dank, poorly lit room, sat Nightwing. His uniform torn and the light toned skin showing through appeared heavily bruised and bleeding. A trail of blood ran from his hairline and trailed down his face, dripping in his blackened and swollen eye.

Bruce was furious. His knuckles whitening from the tight grip he held on the table top. He was going to find his son if it was the last act of his tormented life.

He wouldn't rest until he did.

* * *

Dick was tired, and in all honesty wanted nothing more than a shower and a good nights sleep. And maybe the entire next day as well. But the chances of that happening were slim to none. At least not anytime soon. Not until Bruce saved him. And he would. He was Batman. And Dick had no doubts in his mind that his father would rescue him.

He'd never let him down before so why start now?

Dick continued struggling with his bindings as the Joker returned, still holding the crowbar menacingly in gloved hands.

"Ready for the real fun Bird Boy?"

Dick swallowed thickly, willing his frazzled nerves away. He'd delt with the Joker many times, but never on his own without the Batman by his side. And never without the ability to move his hands freely to defend himself. He felt naked. The Joker had taken his shoes, socks, gloves and utility belt. Why? Dick couldn't say exactly.

"I feel inclined to say no, but I have a feeling you'll dismiss that," Dick replied.

The Joker smiled that trademark slimy grin of his, pulling the crowbar high over his head. The cold metal hit Dick square in the abdomen, knocking the air right out and winding him.

To say it was painful would be quite the understatement. In fact, Dick couldn't remember a time when he'd felt more pain. Though he knew he had been through worse, it didn't make it any less painful.

With a wicked smile, the Joker kept up his ministrations. Hitting Dick repeatedly in the gut, chest and sides, thoroughly bruising his abdomen and leaving Dick a breathless heap.

Dick gasped in agony as the pain in his chest flaired. Somewhere in the back of his mind Dick knew it was very possible a broken rib had slipping loose and punctured a lung. But his pain fogged mind was too unfocused to think too hard on it. He couldn't focus and his vision began to swim when he suddenly realized he was lying face down on the cold, wooden floor of the cabin. His hands and feet still zip tied together but he was no longer bound to the chair. He didn't know what was worse, strapped to a chair and unable to move, or rolling around on the ground where ever injury twanged with the slightest movement. But he kept his mouth clamped shut tight, knowing if the Joker heard his pain it would only please and encourage him further.

The crowbar collided with his kneecap and Dick's will nearly snapped, an agonizing moan slipping from hisblood slicked lips. His vision blurred and white hot agony swept through his body. He was glad for the domino mansion covering his eyes, shielding the Joker's view of the unshed tears that he refused to let fall lingering there.

"That's it Bird Brain; sing for Uncle J," the Joker laughed manically.

Something was seriously wrong with this guy.

Dick bit his lip till it bled, he didn't want to scream for this man, he couldn't. He refused to give him the satisfaction he craved. This was all some sick game between him and Batman, Nightwing was just another pawn. A useless piece he'd easily replace when he was finished with him.

"What's the matter, kiddo?" Joker observed playfully, touching the teeth of the crowbar to the underside of Dick's chin to tip his head upwards. "You're normally so chatty! Not a single pun out of you all evening."

Dick won't speak. Words only fuel the Joker. That, and speaking a painful. Breathing's painful. His insides burn and something rattles wetly whenever he inhales.

But by nature Dick is interactive, and while he can't find his voice, he forced his lips to upturn. It made his face hurt, but he flashed his teeth brilliantly at Joker briefly.

Joker was close again. Dick could smell him. Lithe fingers wound into his hair and then pulled, causing him to wheeze. Dick wanted to ask him to, to beg him, to let him go. But it's no use anyway.

"You're losing your touch, bird boy," he grinned down upon him, his gaze bright yet lifeless. Like nothing could desturb him. Dick felt as though like nothing ever does. "And so is Bats. Where is he, I wonder? He's usually so punctual."

Joker's hold on him vanishes so quickly Dick didn't have the chance to react. Resulting in his head hitting the solid ground harshly. He tried to remember Bruce's tricks. The Batman's tricks. The little things he was taught throughout his years as a crimefighter to keep his head on straight.

But all attempts prove useless.

The beating continued for the next some minutes, Dick wasn't sure quite how long it was -it was rather hard to keep a straight track of time while being bludgeon with a crowbar- just that it was long enough. Leaving a rib or two broken, along with his right kneecap completely shattered, swollen, and throbbing ruthlessly. Not to mention the countless number of bruises colouring his ghostly pale skin. Leaving his body one big mass of ache.

He figured he must have passed out somewhere along the line, the next thing he knew after pain, was waking up, lying in a heap on the floor. His head spinning, he couldn't think straight or formulate a proper train of thought.

His head rest limply on the chilly ground, he wasn't sure he held the energy to lift it.

It was oddly quiet, not a single noise could be heard. He scanned the room with his eyes. He was alone. The Joker must have gone. And that's when he noticed it...

A soft, barely audioble ticking.

_Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick._

...a bomb.

Or at least a variation of one kind of explosive or another, the technical name wasn't important. It sat perched in the centre of the room, it's clock quickly counting down the seconds he had left.

Dick's grey eyes grew wide, he had an hour left. An hour for the Justice League -for Batman- to find him. Though in all honesty, he wasn't sure they could at this point.

Frantically, in a momentary lapse of judgment, Dick tried to climb to his feet. He cried out in agony. Attempt failed. His knee, it was like a wild fire spreading through him and setting his nerves aflame. Panting to catch his breath, Dick risked a chance look at his leg.

He gagged, nearly choking as he forced the bile back down his throat.

You know those injuries you don't realize quite how much they hurt till you actually look at them? It was by far one of those. His leg was bent sideways, in an angle it definitely shouldn't be going, at his knee. The bone sticking through the muscle and skin, oozing red and leaving him in a puddle of his own blood.

Dick swallowed thickly and began to bend his legs, agitating his fucked up knee further. A strangled scream tore from his throat, unabashed to let his suffering be heard, as he folded in on himself, slipping his bound hands under his legs and to his front.

He gulped down a few calming breaths. The door seems miles and miles away, but he reaches it. Leaving a thin trail of his own bold behind him. He knows the door is locked before he turns the nob. His blood slick fingers easily slipping off the old brass.

No! Dick internally screamed, slamming his fist against the sturdy wood. This couldn't be happening. He could not be locked in here. "Damn it!" He shouted, slamming the back of his head against the thick, wooden door causing his visionto waver. He looked up at the ceiling in a silent prayer.

With his eyes shut tight, Dick took a deep, shaky breath, and breathes, and breathes, and breathes. He had an hour. Exactly one measly hour left of this life he'd so recently fucked up. He'd never told Bruce, his father, just how he loved him, how much he appreciated everything he'd done for him. He'd never told Barbara he loved her. He never even finished college, hell, he wouldn't even make it to Babs 21st birthday.

Blinking back unshed tears, Dick spoke, his eyes still shut, his voice barely a whisper, "I'm so sorry Bruce."

* * *

Clark Kent was having a rough day. Never in a thousand years -no, scratch that, three thousand years- had he imagined he'd see the Batman lose control like he did. He couldn't blame him, he was being forced to watch his eldest son be tortured by his greatest foe. Anyone would be distraught by the experience.

Even the Dark Knight.

Who, now, sat in front of the massive screen, his head in his hands. His mind racing as he tried to formulate a plan to rescue his only remaining child.

Clark could only watch as he slumped into the chair after nearly destroying the small room. During Dick's beating he'd nearly lost all semblance of control, hurling things across the room. He'd even thrown the chair at one point, nearly hitting Superman.

"Why haven't we been able to track the location yet?" Bruce growled, still keeping his head down.

"J'onn said they were working on it. We have to be patient." Clark claimed, resting what he hoped to be a reassuring hand on his friends shoulder.

Bruce shrugged it away, "we don't have time!"

"I know that Bruce, but panicking isn't going to help. We need to remain calm... for Richard's sake."

Bruce looked as though he was about to sock the All American Boy Scout square in the jaw, but was interrupted by the soft, broken voice of his son.

"I'm so sorry Bruce."

The two turned to the screen.

* * *

"I'm so sorry. I know you blame yourself, but it wasn't your fault. I should have kept a better eye on him, never should have let him wander off."

Dick wasn't quite sure why he'd said what he'd said. But he figured he could chalk it up to the pain that were currently coursing through him.

"Hell, maybe if I never moved out everything would still be how it used to be," Dick's voice was soft, and so quiet. The three of us, plus Babs of course. I know she blames me, she's never said anything, but she doesn't have to.

"I'm so sorry, I never should have left, never should have moved out. A- and if I do make it out this, can-" Dick swallowed," can I just move back in? Just- just for a little while. I- I left after... after Jason died," a single tear slid down his cheek as he spoke the name of his baby brother. His brother he let down. The brother he'd always wanted and the brother that was ripped so cruely from his reach. "It was a mistake. We- we needed each other, more than ever then and I just left. I ran away from it all, as if it wouldn't follow me out of Gotham."

Dick shook his head and huffed a single, humourless laugh, "I should know better by now. I should've known that shit'll follow you for the rest of your life. It's like- like when I was little and I'd have a nightmare about my parents and when Alfred came to wake me the next morning I wouldn't be in my room, I'd be in yours. You'd hold me all night till I calmed down. You'd even stay up with me all night if they were bad enough. I- I miss that. I miss the comfort of having you just down the hall, just knowing that- that you'd be right there if I needed you."

Dick bit his lip, holding back an onslaught of waiting tears. He didn't want to break down, not in his final moments like this. And dieing wasn't the problem, it was the method on which he was going out. This was how Jason went out. Alone, in some rundown backwoods cabin in the middle of nowhere. Tortured to near death before being left to die from one of the Joker's hand crafted explosives.

Bruce and Clark alike stood stock still as they listened to the words fall from Nightwing's very lips.

Bruce was devastated.

He never knew how Dick felt, he hardly spoke to him since Jason died, he thought he blamed him. He thought he quit speaking to him because he blamed him for Jason death. Little did he know it was because he blamed himself. He was ashamed of himself.

And now Bruce felt ashamed of himself. He should have know better. He knew his son was hurting and he didn't know what to do about it. So he let him go.

* * *

Dick was beginning to feel sick to his stomach. The pain the Joker had inflicted caused his every fiber to ache. And he was sure spouting his emotions was taking its toll on him mentally as well.

He was physically and emotionally exhausted. This day had taken everything out of him and all he wanted was rest. And he could really go for a cup of tea and maybe some PB&J right about now. Wally always picked on him for is odd after battle cravings.

That was one of the things he'd missed about working with the Bat. Whenever they arrived back at the Manor, Alfred would be there, waiting for them. And with the ever loyal butler, awaited a tray of fresh PB&J along with two steaming mugs. Depending on the time of day, a coffee for Bruce and a mug of hot chocolate for Dick. Unless it was summer, then a nice glass of lemonade would do. And if it was late, Alfred would bring tea for the two of them. He even once slipped Bruce NyQuil once or twice on nights when Bruce refused to sleep, claiming he had work to do in the Batcave.

Dick smiled fondly at the memory, hoping it still wasn't too late to make more.

Dick blinked rapidly as several tears broke through the damn. In a raspy, broken voice, he croaked, "I just wanna come home dad."

* * *

Both Bruce Wayne and Batman's hearts broke at his son's words. He'd rarely seen him show such emotion, at least not since his early days as Robin. He'd quickly learned to keep his emotions contained, to bottle them up.

Bruce never asked him to of course. He supposed he just picked it up from Bruce himself somewhere along the line.

But now, now he was wearing his heart on his sleeve and it was killing Bruce.

"We need to find him."

Clark dragged his gaze away from his hands to look at Bruce. He looked awful, his eyes were bloodshot and a stress line marred his forehead. Clark knew he was beating himself up over this. He just wished he could do something to help. Anything.

"Red Tornado and Black Canary are working on it."

"They should be back by now," be growled, his voice dropping to a dangerous level. "Maybe I should help," he said. He began pacing, running a hand through his thick hair having pulled the cowl down long ago. "There has to be something I can do-"

Bruce began to ramble, but was interrupted before he could get too worked up by the door opening. It was Black Canary.

Bruce looked up with hope filled eyes, "have you found him?"

Black Canary nodded. "Here," she said, handing him a small slip of paper. Keeping remarkably calm for just have seen the Batman without his mask. Something that very, very rarely occurred. "The coordinates."

Bruce snatched the paper and immediately headed for the door, a determined march in his step. He pulled his cowl back over his head and made a beeline for the bat mobile. Suddenly extremely grateful he'd thought to bring it along in the jet. "Clark! Keep an eye on him, call if anything noteworthy occurs," he called over his shoulder. "I'm going to find my boy."

He was gone, out the door with the swish of his cape. Leaving Black Canary and Superman left in his wake.

Bruce had thought he'd gone fast before, thought he'd never been in such a rush. He was wrong. As soon as he'd plugged the coordinates into the GPS, he was out of there. Leaving Mount Justice and Happy Harbor in his dust. He was a man on a mission. And as anyone knows, you never get in Batman's way when he's on a mission. Just ask the Joker. Or not, or not would probably be safest.

Through the tinted windows of the Batmobile, his surroundings flew past. Trees and snow blurring to gather as he sped through the woods. Going faster and faster, gaining speed as he went. He had less than thirty minutes left to find Dick. To save his son.

He wouldn't make the same mistakes twice.

* * *

Dick jolted awake, jostling his knee as he did so. Wincing, he gripped his leg just above the wound in a natural reaction. As though he could stem the pain and prevent it from spreading.

He leant back against the door, keeping his stern grip on his leg. Reluctantly, he glanced over at the ticking time bomb just feet away.

0:27:42

Less than thirty minutes left.

He rest his head back with a pained sigh. Breathing had grown more difficult. He wasn't sure when he passed out, but he knew it was much easier before he fell asleep. Still painful, but easier.

He thought he heard a faint growing buzz of a motor roaring in the distance. He didn't know if he's imagining it or not, but Dick focused on that sound like a lifeline.

"Dick?"

That just had to be real.

"Richard, it's me, it's dad. I need you to move away from the door."

Dick swallowed. "Dad?" He croaked, his voice dry and rough.

"Yeah, it's me Dickie, now I need you to move away from the door. Can you do that for me son?"

Dick nodded, "yeah. Yeah I think so, hold on." With his remaining strength and putting the least amount of pressure as he could on his knee, Dick pulled himself away from the door. "I-" Dick coughed, blood oozing from his mouth. "You're good."

On the count of three, Bruce kicked in the door with all the force of a typhoon.

Dick flinched as the door splintered, chunks of wood flying across the room.

"Richard!" Bruce sprung across the room to his son, gripping him tight and wrapping him in a warm embrace. Dick clung to him, his fists twisting in the dark material of his cape. Burring his face in his fathers shoulder and just breathing him in. Bruce Wayne himself had to blink back tears as a wave of relief spread through him. It was like the whole world had just came down on him. "We need to go," Bruce managed to say as he stood. "Can you stand?"

Dick nodded, looking up at his long awaited rescuer.

Taking his hand, Bruce pulled him to his feet, startled by the sudden cry.

"Dick?" Bruce asked, alarmed. It seemed Dick passed out, the pain having been too much for the boy to handle. Moving quickly Bruce scooped him up in his arms, holding him gently, understanding how fragile he was in this state.

That was the difference between the Dark Knight and White Knight of Gotham. Batman was a fighter, a true warrior. While Bruce Wayne was really nothing but a father. Ever gentle with those he held dear.

Bruce was quick on his feet, hurriedly carrying Dick out of the cabin and setting him carefully in the passenger side seat of the Batmobile.

They were only a few miles out when the bomb went off, resounding and echoing in the distance. Birds and animals scurrying. Bruce spared a glance in the overhead mirror. A small -and he uses the term small loosely- mushroom cloud could be seen from just over the horizon. Bruce felt his heart swell at the sight of his son resting beside him. His head laying in his lap.

With a small smile, the Batman sped on for Wayne Manor.

* * *

Nightwing dragged his limp body out of the sliding cockpit of the Batmobile. His legs failed him, forcing him to land face-down onto the hard yet warm floor of the Bat Cave. No matter the weather outdoors, Bruce somehow managed to always keep the Bat Cave at a decently pleasant temperature. Blood pooled below Dick from a long gash along his knee the Joker had inflicted with his crowbar. Coughing furiously, Dick got to his unstable and shaky feet, feeling the sick sensation of blood spilling from him like a deflating balloon.

It was seeping from his leg, slipping from his cracked and aching throat, and he probably had some internally as well.

Alfred is going to be mad, Dick thought to himself, limping over to the work table nearby. He grappled for the surface with blood slicked figures, the Nightwing fell to his knees, dry heaving.

Bruce yanked the cowl from his face angrily, running around the vehicle to his son's side.

Dick's vision was coming hazily and breathing suddenly seemed like a much harder ordeal.

He'd only just awoken as they were pulling into the Bat Cave, and it wasn't a very pleasurable awakening. Every ounce of him ached furiously. He could feel his pulse racing and pounding harshly against in skull.

Bruce carefully hooked his hands under his armpits and lifted Dick off the floor. He shoved everything off the table, sending small objects scattering across the floor. Gently, he lowered Dick onto the surface.

He unhooked his cape and wadded it up in a tight ball. He then oh so carefully lifted Dick's head off the hard table and slid it under, using it as a makeshift pillow. "Just breath Richard, you'll be fine." Bruce assured him. "Alfred!"

"Yessir?" The loyal butler replied nearly immediately from the top of the stairs. His thick British accent carrying through the cave.

"Med kit, now!"

"Yessir."

* * *

When Dick came around, the first thing he noticed was the ceiling above his head. To many, it may appear as nothing more than that, a ceiling. But that was all Dick needed to know exactly where he was. He'd recognize that handcrafted crown molding anywhere. Who else could afford such an intricate ceiling?

He could only be one place, Wayne Manor. More specifically, his old bedroom.

The silk curtains were drawn down, keeping the sunlight at bay. Something Dick was internally grateful for. He didn't think his head could handle the harsh light, it was already pounding furiously. Annoyingly.

The clock on his nightstand read 5:03. He slept all day.

He only wished he could remember why.

He attempted to sit up, intending to find out just why he was at Bruce's. Bad choice. The movement pulled on torn skin and aching ribs, causing a surprised cry to fall from his lips.

Oh, right, that's why.

He tried to sit up again, only this time much more carefully. Pushing the blankets aside and swinging his legs over he saw he'd been bandaged up pretty badly. His ribs wrapped snugly and his knee bandaged and cased. Even more surprising, he was in sweats and an old Gotham Knights tee. Bruce must have changed him. Odd.

He reached down, careful not to upset any fractured ribs, and grabbed the extra pair of crutches he always kept under his bed for situations like these. Years of crime fighting taught him many small tricks, this one particularly he'd picked up from the Bat himself.

he poked his head out the door, looking both ways down the hall. It was clear. And assuming by the time of day Bruce was either somewhere on the ground floor or in the Cave. He was pegging for the Cave seeing as Bruce practically lived there anyway.

Swinging forward in the crutches Dick approached the extravagant flight of stairs that led to the living room. The steps proved quite the obstacle, but years of practice proved helpful in getting him down the stairs. It took longer than he would have liked but hey, he couldn't complain. Well he could, he felt he had the right to actually, but he failed to see where that would get him. Definitely wouldn't make him move any faster anyway.

Dick made his way across the tiled floor, the crutches creating a soft click sound as he swung across the room. He had every intention of finding something to eat in the kitchen, maybe have Alfred whip something up for him, he was starved, but the sight of Bruce sitting casually at the kitchen bar speaking animatedly with Alfred froze him momentarily. He wasn't expecting to see Bruce above ground. It was past five o'clock. Batman should be beginning his routine patrol of the city. So what was he doing sitting in the kitchen of Wayne Manor? Dressed in jeans and a tee, with apparently no intention of going out that night.

The sound of Dick approaching didn't get past Bruce's trained ears. "Richard."

Dick smiled, "hey." Bruce looked concerned. Something Dick was partially grateful for and partially annoyed by. "Something the matter?"

Bruce shook his head, having the decency to appear sheepish. "No, no it's just- you feeling okay?"

Dick sniffed, "define 'okay'."

Bruce cracked a small smile, he'd missed having his boy around. He was the life of the mansion. "Do you feel like you're gonna keel over?"

Dick shrugged and took a seat at the table. Sitting sideways in his chair to face Bruce at the bar. He propped his crutches up against the little round table, setting his injured leg in the chair beside him carefully. "I wouldn't say that, maybe later. Just tired for now, head hurts a little too. Beside that I think I'll live."

Bruce nodded, more to himself than anyone. "Good. Considering."

Dick nodded, a companionable silence settling over the two of them. Interrupted by Alfred setting a plate of fresh pancakes along with a glass of orange juice and a bottle of painkillers in front of Dick.

"Thanks Alfred."

"Any time Master Richard. It's quite a relief to have you back if I do say so. It gets rather quiet with just myself, Master Bruce and the occasional guest."

Dick chuckled and began digging into his pancakes gratefully. "Oh come on Al he's not that bad."

"Hmm. That's one opinion."

Dick smiled and glanced over at a scowling Bruce, only causing him to grin wider. "Wait, Bruce has company?"

"Indeed, though I'm not sure company is the correct way of describing them."

"Who?"

"Typically it's Mr. Kent, but on occasion the notorious Ms. Kyle has been known to drop by for a visit."

Dick nearly choked on his pancake, Bruce choking on his coffee.

"What?!"

"Alfred!"

The butler just turned and calmly left the kitchen. Claiming to have other duties to attend, a small smile forming on his lips. Bruce swore, sometimes that man enjoyed causing trouble.

His departure caused the room to fall into another, this time slightly more awkward, silence. Dick quietly nursing his juice, Bruce a coffee.

"So, you and Selina huh?"

"Shuddup Dick."

"Of course. Sorry, not my place, I don't mean to pry." Despite his best effort, he couldn't keep the smirk out of his voice.

"Thought you had a thing for Wonder Woman?"

Bruce scowled, "and what gave you that impression?"

Dick shrugged, "dunno."

"I'm not discussing my love life with my incredibly immature son."

Dick just snickered, "right. Sorry. Just curious is all. I'm not complaining or anything, I'm sure Selina's a nice lady and all. I was just- did you just throw a pancake at me?! Now look who's being the immature one. How old are you?"

It was in that moment -that incredibly normal, impossibly average person moment- that realization hit Dick like a freight train. He'd spent all this time living in Blüdhaven, away from Gotham, away from Bruce. It was an escape, he was running from this city. Every inch of it brought back memories, the majority of which were good. But the ones that were bad, were just too bad. Too painful. He thought if he got away they'd go away too.

But he should have know better. He was still to this day, haunted by his parents death. And on top of that, he had Jason's. His little brother, his little brother that both he and Bruce blamed themselves for.

But not anymore. He couldn't keep living that way. It was no way to live. Because he hadn't been living. He'd been getting by. And that just wasn't enough.

"Can I move back in?"

The question was so sudden it startled even himself.

Bruce looked on, wide-eyed at his son. "Of course you can. You're always welcome here, you know that."

Dick just nodded. There was no point in running from this city any longer. There was no point in blaming himself over what he couldn't have helped.

The past was the past. There was no reason in dwelling on it. What's done is done.

It's okay to move on. In fact, you have too if you ever want to go anywhere. As long as you don't forget.

We have to keep moving.

We have to move on.

We have to remember.


End file.
